


Everything or Nothing

by Implosion



Series: Hermits and Demigods [1]
Category: Hermitcraft, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Demigods, Gen, Hermitcraft - Freeform, Impulse-centric, Percy Jackson References, Percy Jackson and the Olympians AU, Team ZIT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 14:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20547611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Implosion/pseuds/Implosion
Summary: When Impulse woke up that day, he had no idea that it would be the last normal morning of his life. Gods, myths, and monsters? Turns out there's some truth to the stories.





	Everything or Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> *Looks at all my wips* What if I.. worked on a new AU instead of those? Hahahaha.
> 
> Canon is but the clay that I mold to my liking, which is to say that while most of this AU /should/ adhere to Mr. Riordan's rules, I will likely change a few things up. Takes place post H00, but there probably won't be references to TOA, as I haven't read it yet. You don't need to know any Percy Jackson lore to read this story!
> 
> Huge shout-out to my friends Nick and Book for beta'ing this story!

Impulse awakes with a gasp to a clap of thunder, in a puddle of sweat. The remnants of a nightmare claw at the edges of his mind, but for the life of him, he can’t remember what it was he dreamed about. When he closes his eyes, all he can see are vague impressions, like footprints left behind in the sand. 

A roar of thunder shakes his bedroom, and Impulse can’t help but flinch at the sound. When he looks down, he realizes that his hands are shaking. He can’t help but wonder if the storm had worked its way into his nightmare somehow.

When Impulse woke up that day, he had no idea that it would be the last normal morning of his life.

By the time he leaves for work, fat droplets of rain are leaking from the clouds. When he pulls up at a coffee shop ten minutes later, the drizzle of rain has become a torrent. He pulls his coat over his head to shield himself from the downpour as he runs to the quaint little cafe, a local joint known for their unusual brews and quirky names. The shop, known locally as the ‘Bean Bag’, is tucked away from the hustle and bustle of mainstreet. It offers a quieter atmosphere than the local chain shops, which is one of the reasons he prefers it.

Yanking open the door, Impulse ducks inside. Though he’d only been in the rain for a minute, his brown hair was plastered against his forehead, dripping water onto his shoulders. Impulse smooths out his coat collar, before joining the small line leading up to the register and looking around. 

Because of the storm, it’s a quiet day in the shop. There’s only a couple of people in line in front of him, while the tables around the area are sparsely occupied. Light jazz pours from the speakers in the corner, soft over the hissing of the espresso machine. 

It takes him a few moments before Impulse realizes that there’s a wrongness in the cozy picture before him, sticking out like a sore thumb. A monster sits in a corner booth, reading its tablet and sipping from a cappuccino as if it’s an everyday occurrence. At a glance, the monster appears like any man, dressed like it’s just about to head out to the office, in a charcoal suit and and matching loafers. 

Torrential wings of storm and shadow that jut out of this creature’s shoulders, folded neatly against its back. When Impulse looks at the monster’s eyes, all he can see are twin pits of mirrored blackness, void of any pupil or emotion. Electricity crackles out of its empty sockets, synonymous with the thunder booming outside. 

Impulse looks away on instinct, and roots his eyes to the menu in front of him. _It’s just a figment of your imagination. _He tells himself, _Ignore it. It’ll fade soon. _And it does. When Impulse looks up again, a clean-shaven man has replaced the monster. He blinks once, then again to confirm, but the wings and electricity have faded. The man notices Impulse’s stare and squints, as if he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. Impulse forces an awkward smile to his lips before looking away.

Ever since he was a kid, he’s had moments like this, where he sees.. creatures in place of men. The visions are short, lasting a minute or less, but he always chalked it up to his wild imagination. Men possessing a single eye would wave to him when he crossed the street, or women with feathered arms and claws would raise a finger to their lips as he passed them. Impulse saw what he could only describe as something out of myth and legend, like men with the head of cattle. The visions continued into adulthood, persisting so often that he considered talking to someone about them, but Impulse could never bring himself to make the final step.

Impulse shakes the water out of his hair, fumbling for his wallet as he waits for the customer in front of him to finish ordering. The hair on his neck prickles with unease, as if there’s someone watching him. When Impulse looks around, the man from before is watching him. His expression is stony, unreadable, but there’s something about it that sends a shiver of fear running down Impulse’s spine.

The man stands up. 

Immediately, the alarm bells in his head start to ring. In two quick strides, the man is one foot away, breathing his sour breath into his face. Impulse makes the move to back away only to find his arm caught in a steel grip. “Hey, what are you doing?” Impulse says, “Could you let me go?”

Despite his protests, the man doesn’t waver as he turns around and drags Impulse out the door and into the freezing rain. No one in the coffee shop even blinks an eye. The streets aren’t much better, as harried pedestrians weave around the two of them without a care in the world. “Hey, stop!” Impulse shouts, but no one seems to notice. _Why wasn’t anyone noticing?_

Impulse continues to struggle, even as the man’s fingers curl tighter and tighter around his wrist, sending a sharp spike of pain shooting through his wrist. Seconds later, he’s thrown into a deserted alleyway and lands hard on the same arm. Something cracks and Impulse can’t help but hiss as pain floods his senses. Over the white noise, he dulley registers the fact that something may have just broken. However, before he has the time to gather his bearings, the man is there, looming over him.

The man looks at him for a long second, before leaning in and _inhaling._ Impulse grimaces and turns his head away, clutching his injured arm to his chest. The man leans back, a lupine grin spreading across his face as he considers Impulse.“I thought I smelled something nasty.” He chuckles, “You demigods have such a scent to you. Really, you thought you could hide it so easily?”

_Demigod?_

“I have... no idea what you’re talking about,” Impulse manages to spit out between the pain. 

The man arches an eyebrow. He cackles, laughing so hard that he nearly falls over. Except it’s less of a laugh and more of a strained, rasping grimace, comparable to the sound of nails being dragged across a chalkboard; very startling and equally unpleasant. When the man straightens up, he’s not a man anymore.

The monster has returned -- the same one Impulse had glimpsed before, with the empty eyes and electrical wings. Impulse blinks, willing the illusion away. Except this time, it doesn’t fade.

If anything, it gets worse. Unfolding its wings, the monster stretches them out. Fully extended, they’re almost twice the size of in. Electricity sizzles in the air around them, occasionally snapping off of it’s skin. A stray spark pops off of his hand and fizzles out on Impulse’s face. It tickles.

_It tickles? _

Impulse’s breath caught in his throat, as the world around him slowed down until he could only focus on one thought. _He could feel it._ That had never happened before. Were the visions getting worse?

Or were the monsters of his imagination more real than he could have ever imagined?

The monster advances.

Impulse scrabbles backwards, as quick as he can, but its seconds before he runs out of wiggle room, plastered between a brick wall and the creature made of electricity and storm. Caught between a rock and a hard place, with an injured arm and no foreseeable way to escape, Impulse does the only thing he can think of. He talks.

“Why are you doing this?” He asks, “Why me?”

The creature pauses. “Why not?” It grins at Impulse, before flexing soot-stained fingers, tipped with sharp claws. “It’s not personal. I just happen to know a little something about someone who’s looking for demigods. And well,” it shrugs, “You fit the bill.” 

“It’s not- it’s not _personal_?” Impulse parrots back like a broken record. “What the hell are you talking about. Demigods? You’re insane!”

It quirks its head, grinning from ear to ear. “You really didn’t know?” It gestures at him crudely, before barking out a sharp laugh. “I hate to break it to you, man, but you’re _not human._”

“There’s nothing else I could be!” Impulse insists. 

“Are you so sure about?” The monster shrugs again. “You saw right through the Mist in the cafe, didn’t you? Betcha I’m not the first thing you’ve ever seen. Haven’t you ever wondered why?”

Empty words hang heavy in the air between them. Impulse opens his mouth to reply, only to close it right after, still reeling from the monster’s words. _The Mist? Demigods?_ Nothing made sense. What it was implying was impossible. And yet... “What... what happens now?” He asks after a second. The voice that comes out of his mouth sounds so timid and quiet, it’s hard for him to believe that it’s his own. “What are... you going to do to me..?”

It cracks its knuckles. “As long as the demigod is alive, my source tells me that _he_ doesn’t care about the state it’s in.”

_This was it. _This was how he was going to die. 

Something deep within Impulse breaks. Briefly, he considered retaliating with everything he’s got, but as he struggles to sit up, it occurs to him: _what could he do against a living storm? _He was out of options, trapped in an alleyway with an injured arm, facing up against the impossible. He was so, painstakingly... human. That thing had to be wrong. A demigod? Squeezing his eyes shut, Impulse slumps against the wall, and waits for inevitability to come claim her victim.

She comes in the form of a fireball, blazing down the alleyway and hitting the monster smack dab in the face. Embers spray and Impulse winces as a stray one lands on him. His eyes shoot open, darting to the end of the alleyway, where two figures stand.

Through the sheets of rain, Impulse can make out very little about the figures. One has wild blonde hair, and is wearing what seems to be a red shirt beneath a dark gray chestplate. The second figure is wearing brown leather over a cardigan and slacks. Beneath his purple-streaked helmet, Impulse can’t see much, but he believes that the second man is also blonde.

One of the men- the one in the red armour- takes a step forward, cupping his hand in front of him. A pale ball of white flame whispers into existence. Though the ball sparks where the rain hits it, it continues to glow white-hot. Drawing back his arm, the man hurls it at the monster, who had twisted around to see the interlopers. By the time it strikes the monster, two more are already on the way, summoned into existence the same way the first had been. The second ball hits much in the same way that the first had, sending it staggering, but the monster manages to recover in time to backhand the last out of the way.

He continues to lob flames at the monster, who hisses and stalks away from Impulse. The shape besides fire-man blurs, before snapping out of existence. Not that the monster seems to notice, as its attention is focused entirely on the man in red. 

He jumps when the second man suddenly appears right next to him. “H-how?” He asks. Impulse is startled to find warm hands on his torso, pulling him to his feet. 

“You okay?” The man in the brown armour asks him, purple eyes glittering with amusement. He’s a couple of inches taller than Impulse, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that there’s a sword buckled to his belt. 

“I-” Impulse starts, only to be cut off when the monster roars behind him. He peers around the stranger’s shoulder to see the fire-wielder going toe to toe with the creature, electricity versus fire. Electricity pours out of the monster’s skin like fog, discharged into the air. Flames creep up the other man’s skin like twisting vines. His eyes are alight with power, quite literally glowing red. “What the- will he.. be okay?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Tango.” Purple-eyes says, supporting Impulse’s weight, “He can hold his own.”

Tango laughs maniacally in the background.

But it’s true.

Tango is going toe to toe against the monster. He dodges. He attacks. He gets hit. But he never breaks, and he never falls. When he yells, flames pour out of his mouth. When the creature lobs electricity at him, he tosses twice as much fire back at it. The fire around him only grow stronger, brighter, hotter, until Impulse can no longer see a man within the flickering flames, but a star set to go supernova.

The monster is frustrated. It can’t hold up against Tango, who’s relentless in his pursuit. It can barely block the incoming attacks, let alone generate its own. It’s electricity flickers, growing weaker with every passing minute.

“Who... are you guys?” Impulse asks.

“The name’s Zedaph,” Zedaph says with a grin that answers none of the questions currently buzzing about Impulse’s brain. “You alright?”

“I’ve been better.” Impulse says, as something explodes in the background. Zedaph looks behind him and frowns, before unsheathing the falchion buckled at his waist. The weapon is like nothing Impulse has ever seen before, a pure gold blade with purple and white accents. 

“Do you uh, think you could handle yourself for a second?” He asks, disappearing into thin air before Impulse can answer. He rematerialized behind the monster, and with a yell, joins Tango in the fray. 

He jabs at the monster with his blade, but it dances out of the way just in time. The blade slides through the air, just barely nicking it on the arm. Yellow smoke drifts out of the wound, and the monster hisses, before disappearing with a loud _pop _of electricity.

The only sound is the soft pitter-patter of rain against the streets.

A soft _pop_ crackles from besides Impulse. He winces as a claw-tipped hand digs into his shoulder, drawing rivulets of blood, while the other hovers just a few inches above his throat. “Not- another- move.” The monster hisses. It’s a flickering visage of man and storm. It can’t seem to settle one or another. In one moment, it’s man with dark eyes, and in the next it’s a storm. 

Tango and Zedaph freeze. Impulse holds his breath. Frankly, it’s a sticky situation - one he doesn’t know how to get out of. When Zedaph takes a step forward, the monster tenses. His claws inch closer. “Try.. me,” it hisses slowly, “You’re going.. to let me walk out.. of here.”

Though electricity still circles it skin, the jolts do little more than tickle. Its hands are trembling, and each breath the monster draws seems to take an effort. _It’s like a car without gas, _Impulse realizes. _It doesn’t have enough energy to use its powers to escape_. The trembling creature clutching him is a far cry from the arrogant young man from just minutes before.

“You don’t have to do this,” Zedaph says. He takes another step. There’s something different about his voice. It’s lower and silkier, almost hypnotic. “Aren’t you tired of fighting?”

He is. He is tired. Impulse blinks slowly, his chin dipping as weariness sinks into his bones. The monster must feel much the same, as it’s grip on Impulse’s shoulder has become lax. He could probably wiggle out of its grip if he wanted.. But he’s so tired. A nap sounded so good.

“You should sleep,” Zedaph suggests quietly, and Impulse can’t help but nod. Wearily, he blinks at Zedaph, and is surprised to see his purple eyes have become a pale white, as if the pigment had been sucked out of them. “Doesn’t the ground look comfortable?”

The monster releases his shoulder. It takes two steps forward, swaying on unsteady feet, before collapsing into a heap on the ground. “Who.. are you?” Impulse croaks again, before his knees buckle out beneath him and he shares the creature’s fate.

The world fades until Impulse knows nothing but darkness.

-

Impulse wakes up. For a moment, there is only fog. He squints at his surroundings, wondering why he passed out in an alleyway. The sky about him is lighter, with puffy clouds spread thin across the horizon. The storm had stopped. He’d been dreaming hadn’t he? Something about a monster made of storm, and the two unusual figures who had saved him from it.

The fog fades. _It wasn’t a dream._

His memories come rushing back. Sitting up, he nearly startles Zedaph, who’s leaning against the wall a couple of feet away. He doesn’t look so hot, appearing pale and worn out. Rain (or is that sweat?) beads his forehead. When he sees that Impulse is alert, he brightens up. “Have a good nap sleepyhead?” Zedaph asks with a grin. Twisting around, he shouts down the alleyway, “Hey Tango, he woke up!”

Tango pokes his head around the end and waves, before jogging over.

“Wait... wait...” He shakes his head slowly. Nothing makes sense. Impulse makes an attempt at standing, only to be hit by a rush of vertigo. He sways, and were it not for Tango grabbing his arm, he would have fallen.

“Are you alright?” Tango asks. “That storm spirit was a piece of work. How are you holding up?”

“I feel.. Good.” Impulse says, as the realization that neither his arm nor shoulder hurt anymore. Looking down at his wrist, he’s startled to see it looks perfectly normal, no bruises, nothing. Like it had all been a bad dream. “How..?” He whispers under his breath, before registering the latter part of Tango’s words. “Storm spirit? What happened to it?”

Tango nods over his shoulder, to where a pile of yellow dust sits. 

“That thing was real? You...you saw it too,” Impulse rasps, “It’s not- it’s not just me?” 

Tango ducks his head to chuckle, and when he looks up again, it’s only then that Impulse realizes that his eyes are slanted, just like a goat’s. “It’s not just you,” he says, “Myths, Gods, monsters, almost all of them are real.”

Impulse’s breath hitches in his throat.

The ground beneath his feet feels unsteady, as if the rug had been pulled out from beneath him. In a single hour, everything Impulse thought he knew has been turned on its head, and he’s drowning in the revelations. 

“I thought I was the only one... I- I thought I was,” trailing off, Impulse shakes his head. “I tho- thought I was...” Impulse’s thoughts are racing, whirling around his head at a mile a minute. He feels lightheaded, unsteady, and it takes him a couple of seconds to realize that while he’s sucking in air, there’s no relief tied to the action. When he inhales, he breathes in nothing but empty air. “I can’t-”

Tango grips his shoulder gently, digging his sharp nails into the folds of Impulse’s shirt. He scrabbles at Tango’s arm like it’s a lifeline, and in the moment, it might as well be. “You’re not alone,” Tango tells him softly. “Do you hear me Impulse? You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

“Breathe,” Zedaph advises from somewhere to his left. “We’ll tell you everything you need to know! But you gotta breathe first.”

Impulse nods shakily. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he feels more in control of himself. “I’m ready,” says Impulse. 

“What do you want to know first?” Tango asks him.

Impulse takes a deep breath. “Everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story! Sorry if Team ZIT seemed out of character here, to be honest, dialogue and characterization isn't my strong suit, but I hope to improve! ( For the love of god, please watch them, they're so goddamn funny, I can only ever aspire to be as funny as them.)
> 
> The PJO AU will likely be updated whenever I have the time to write, in-between the other series I'm working on. This AU mostly sprung up because I wanted to explore two concepts Mr. Riordan only ever mentioned in passing- what happens once you age out of Camp Half Blood and theoretically shouldn't there be tons more demigod legacies walking around. I mean, some demigods must live long enough to have have kids, right? 
> 
> Please leave comments and constructive criticism! Interacting with y'all really inspires me to keep writing. Let me know if I should add anything to the tags. :D Have a great night!
> 
> PS. Any guesses to their godly heritages? ;)


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